...nerf wars occurring in my living room.
...the little brother lovingly educating the big sister on the best way to fire over the couch cushions.
...giggling.
...knowing they're all safely and snugly in their beds where they should be.
...river baptisms. watching my girl's crush get baptized. hehe.
...too much ice cream in a week. too many brownies in a day. too many fingers full of buttercream per cake.
...customers who post glowing facebook status updates regarding the cake you delivered ten minutes ago.
...anticipation of greatness.
..."mommy, i don't care what anybody says. i want to be the teen who isn't afraid to hold her mom's hand."
...fighting tears so that she's not embarrassed she's holding her mom's hand.
...marshmallow white cake body spray.
...a fine layer of cornstarch everywhere.
...knowing the baby will be here in the morning. and she'll want to snuggle before breakfast.
...knowing it's a short week with the baby ;)
...only having one cake next weekend. and it's for a baby i've only gotten to see once. ;)
...a dog who would rather be next to me than anywhere else.
...my mom.
...fake English accents and silly catch phrases.
...Phineas and Ferb. and iCarly.
...Phineas and Ferb and iCarly while laughing with my kids.
...hand-me-down grills.
...answered prayer.
...dreaming. wishful thinking. constant prayer.
...rest. summer.
...unconditional love.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
Simple Woman's Daybook, 7/11/11
Outside my window...it's HOT. but it's sunny. and not snowing. works for me.
I am thinking...that standing here in front of my computer is a respite from the reality that my girls...are grown-up enough for teen camp. right. now.
I am thankful for...air conditioning. my son's best friend.
I am wearing...grey tank, plaid button-down short, denim shorts
I am remembering...my first day of teen camp, Chambers, 1984.
I am creating...the keep-Bryson-busy-while-his-sisters-are-away-without-going-completely-crazy-or-spending-a-small-fortune schedule for this week.
I am going...to be one tired mama by Friday. ;)
I am reading...Breaking Free by Beth Moore.
I am hoping...for the best week for my girls. that they grow. love. learn. stretch.
On my mind... so very much.
From the learning rooms... learning rooms? what learning rooms??
Noticing that...when my kids are gone, my house is ridiculously clean. and i like it cluttery better.
Noticing that...when my kids are gone, my house is ridiculously clean. and i like it cluttery better.
From the kitchen...mint chocolate chip ice cream mixing in the ice cream maker we got for a screaming deal at Walmart yesterday...
Around the house...everything left over from packing the girls for camp. holy nightmarish process.
One of my favorite things... thunderstorms.
Praying for...focus. the ability to "praise him in this storm."
A picture thought...
The girls and their girls... ;)
A few plans for this week... Nerf camp. Drive-In movies. Campfires. Swimming Lessons. Sleepovers. Missing my girlybugs. Lots and lots of that one.
If you enjoy dwelling on the simple things in life and want to participate in this, CLICK HERE to read all about it and join us! Leave me a comment so I know to check out your blog to see your post!
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Nick
I got a call this morning from my Momma...I almost always love calls from my Momma...it's just the nature of who she is and who we are. This morning's call...I could have lived without.
When we moved away from Rochester 13 years ago, I gladly came "home." Though I had never lived in the town, if you had asked me where I wanted to raise my kids, I would answer Corning. Just a few miles from where I lived until I was 11, it felt like home. Add to that the fact that Mom and Dad already lived here, and that the church where Dad was hired treated us like family as soon as we arrived...there was very little missing of Rochester that went on, despite living there for 11 years. The thing is...there were people I did miss. People with whom I did not keep in touch. I have few regrets in life. This choice, I regret.
Some of the most influential people in my life stayed in Rochester when I left. People who guided me through my teen years and loved me despite my boy-crazy, giggly, dramatic times. Richard and Gail Means, for example. Listeners. Compassion-givers. Huggers. Sally Lawrence. My mentor. Discipleship partner. The one I confided in when mom and dad just didn't get it...funny how they knew to put her in my life. Nick and Marsha Borys.
Nick and Marsha Borys.
You had to know them to understand my heart for them. Their oldest daughter was one of my best friends all through high school (and two of the other sisters were sweet friends as well). I spent days and days and days at their house in Greece. I permed the girls' hair, straightened it again, danced and giggled to Sweatin' with the Oldies at youth group sleepovers, developed an aversion to shrimp after helping devour something like 20 pounds of it in one sitting at a summer party, whooped it up at cookouts, trick-or-treated (talk about a haul!!) through their neighborhood, listened to Nick's perspective on life and living while he sat in the kitchen and flipped pancakes on the griddle (I think that's an accurate memory)(funny what stays in your mind and what doesn't), giggled with Marsha over boys and Believers and songs and choreography, slept and didn't sleep and helped everyone clean up so I could sleep over. When I got married, Marsha's parents gave us a week at their beautiful home (complete with indoor pool and anything else you could want) in Hilton Head, SC. For Free. Honestly, I think more of my memories from my teen years took place at the Borys house than they did at my own. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I remember more of the Borys' house than I do of school.
Which is why, 20 years later, the thought of losing Nick, even after not being with him, makes me ache.
Nick has battled Leukemia for years, apparently, and about a month ago, the medication he takes for Leukemia caused his body to not fight an infection. He became dehydrated and his blood pressure bottomed out, and they couldn't get it back under complete control. His kidneys began to shut down. They started dialysis. Nothing has really helped. He has been in varying stages of not-doing-well since that point. My parents rushed to Rochester when he was admitted and have kept in touch. This morning, he is on a ventilator, awaiting the arrival of Renee, his daughter, who lives in NYC and will arrive at around 11 to say her goodbyes.
His health has always been touch and go. After a debilitating accident 35 years ago which left his leg virtually destroyed and infection after infection, he spent months in the hospital, years battling his health. I remember wondering how one man could go through so much. But he did. And he lived life with gusto. You never wondered where you stood with Nick--his joy and his frustration showed all over his face. All through his tone. He didn't pull any punches. His laugh echoes in my mind...you have never heard a laugh like his. He was gruff and rough, and he cried without reservation...over his children's accomplishments, his successes or failures, his happiness or his pain. The thought of never hearing that again...after not reconnecting in years...is devastating. My heart aches for Marsha and the kids and the people who will lose him. And though I know with whom he will walk today...I know those who will walk without him. And I will grieve with them.
When we moved away from Rochester 13 years ago, I gladly came "home." Though I had never lived in the town, if you had asked me where I wanted to raise my kids, I would answer Corning. Just a few miles from where I lived until I was 11, it felt like home. Add to that the fact that Mom and Dad already lived here, and that the church where Dad was hired treated us like family as soon as we arrived...there was very little missing of Rochester that went on, despite living there for 11 years. The thing is...there were people I did miss. People with whom I did not keep in touch. I have few regrets in life. This choice, I regret.
Some of the most influential people in my life stayed in Rochester when I left. People who guided me through my teen years and loved me despite my boy-crazy, giggly, dramatic times. Richard and Gail Means, for example. Listeners. Compassion-givers. Huggers. Sally Lawrence. My mentor. Discipleship partner. The one I confided in when mom and dad just didn't get it...funny how they knew to put her in my life. Nick and Marsha Borys.
Nick and Marsha Borys.
You had to know them to understand my heart for them. Their oldest daughter was one of my best friends all through high school (and two of the other sisters were sweet friends as well). I spent days and days and days at their house in Greece. I permed the girls' hair, straightened it again, danced and giggled to Sweatin' with the Oldies at youth group sleepovers, developed an aversion to shrimp after helping devour something like 20 pounds of it in one sitting at a summer party, whooped it up at cookouts, trick-or-treated (talk about a haul!!) through their neighborhood, listened to Nick's perspective on life and living while he sat in the kitchen and flipped pancakes on the griddle (I think that's an accurate memory)(funny what stays in your mind and what doesn't), giggled with Marsha over boys and Believers and songs and choreography, slept and didn't sleep and helped everyone clean up so I could sleep over. When I got married, Marsha's parents gave us a week at their beautiful home (complete with indoor pool and anything else you could want) in Hilton Head, SC. For Free. Honestly, I think more of my memories from my teen years took place at the Borys house than they did at my own. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I remember more of the Borys' house than I do of school.
Which is why, 20 years later, the thought of losing Nick, even after not being with him, makes me ache.
Nick has battled Leukemia for years, apparently, and about a month ago, the medication he takes for Leukemia caused his body to not fight an infection. He became dehydrated and his blood pressure bottomed out, and they couldn't get it back under complete control. His kidneys began to shut down. They started dialysis. Nothing has really helped. He has been in varying stages of not-doing-well since that point. My parents rushed to Rochester when he was admitted and have kept in touch. This morning, he is on a ventilator, awaiting the arrival of Renee, his daughter, who lives in NYC and will arrive at around 11 to say her goodbyes.
His health has always been touch and go. After a debilitating accident 35 years ago which left his leg virtually destroyed and infection after infection, he spent months in the hospital, years battling his health. I remember wondering how one man could go through so much. But he did. And he lived life with gusto. You never wondered where you stood with Nick--his joy and his frustration showed all over his face. All through his tone. He didn't pull any punches. His laugh echoes in my mind...you have never heard a laugh like his. He was gruff and rough, and he cried without reservation...over his children's accomplishments, his successes or failures, his happiness or his pain. The thought of never hearing that again...after not reconnecting in years...is devastating. My heart aches for Marsha and the kids and the people who will lose him. And though I know with whom he will walk today...I know those who will walk without him. And I will grieve with them.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Fishing
I took my kids fishing today. Alone. I've never been fishing alone in my life. I have always relied upon the expertise of my father or whatever other man was there to tell me what lure to use, how to bait the hook, how to cast the line, how to get the hook out of the fish's mouth, where to fish, how to fish, how to cast...I haven't gone fishing since I turned 16 and needed a license to do so. Just...never really seemed important, though I do enjoy fishing, so I deferred the option to the kids' dad when they got old enough to want to do it...figured it was something he could do with them that he would enjoy. Fishing is fun. Fishing is something I can do with them right here. We were going fishing.
I walked into the store and quickly got my sticky gloves and my needle nosed pliers in the tool aisle--those were things I knew I wanted (Walmart is good for this anyway...one-stop shopping). I have no problem touching fish...but some of them are prickly, and...well, I don't know which ones, to be honest. And since I would be the only grown-up standing there at the river, I had to be able to yank whatever came out of the water off those poles. I headed over to get my license, approached the rods and reels and bait, and just kind of panned from one end of the aisle to the other. I had no idea what I was looking for in that aisle, despite my crash course on what kind of fish I would find in the river and what kinds of things they would like. Like...what the heck is spinnerbait (it has too many prongy thingies on it and I knew I was going to have ripped-apart fingers with those)?? Do you know how many different boxes full of contraptions that all look the same line this aisle? And they are so not the same. I know now. Because the woman who stood there and told me she spends more on fishing tackle than she does on shoes and clothes told me so. I think she took pity on me when she noticed the blank stare on my face. Honestly, I don't know if she actually knew what she was talking about. But she sure seemed to. She started talking about "chartreuse" and "pumpkin seed" bait thingies and how power bait had a scent and all this stuff...woo! Point me to it, lady! I will put it in my cart. Frankly, I didn't even care. I wanted to fish. I wanted to take my kids fishing. Who cares about the right lures?? We live half a mile from the river. Let's. Go. Fishin.
We got the license (which has the wrong address...I need to go fix that), grabbed a few groceries (yay, Walmart!), and quickly made our way home. I strung up the poles, ripped the stupid reels off the inexpensive poles I got two of the kids to make them actually function (found out later I screwed something up in the process, I think), tied jigs on the lines, opened up all the tiny little packages and stuck them in the tackle box (with the pliers. and scissors.), and we drove to the river (the plan was to walk, but, umm, by the time all of that happened, we had an hour and a half until the girls had to be at youth group. and supper to prepare/eat. we drove). The walk to the river from the car...proved interesting. Hehe. The kids do not like walking through deep grass next to the river...apparently there are critters there. And, actually, I confirmed that, long about the time I wasn't watching ahead of me, but rather talking behind me, and stepped directly into a woodchuck hole. Hehe. Thankfully, I just smashed my finger and didn't break a leg. Which I wouldn't put past me. On a fishing trip to the river. Sheesh. We found our spot on the rocks, and the kids cast their lines.
I learned a lesson from my dad somewhere along the way...when taking kids fishing, if you bring your own pole and think you're actually going to fish, you're just going to wind up frustrated. You spend more time untangling lines, baiting hooks, pulling hooks out of fishies' mouths, running back and forth between children, rescuing kids from falling in the river...it's just a better idea not to even bring your pole. I did not take my pole.
It's a good thing.
Within 5 minutes, Bryson has "caught" a submerged tree. Cut line #1. Re-hook and "bait" and sinker line #1 (by the way, I have no idea what to do with sinkers. Or hooks. Or bait. I don't care.). 2 minutes after Bryson hooks the tree, Reasa has hooked something waaaaay out in the river (a rock?)...and can't reel anything in (see above paragraph regarding the disassembly of her reel). Cut line #2. Spend 15 minutes attempting to untangle the mess of line inside Reasa's reel. Finally give up and resort to scissors, put the thing back together, shaking my head, promising to hand it to my dad the next time I see him so he can show me why I can't make the thing function. Child #1 (Reasa) splooshes her muck boot allllll the way into the water, resulting in giggling and screeching (after she gets over her "I'm just a disaster! I break everything I touch!" tirade. Oh my GOSH she's so 12.). Laine gives Reasa her rod because, frankly, she'd rather scope out the rocks and see how many times she can slip on them and how many brush burns she can aquire (sigh. why did she have to inherit THAT quality??). At one point, I kid you not, these words came out of her mouth: "Oh my gosh! Mom! I just found spam!!" She also found several walmart bags and picked her way through the rocks, collecting junk so we could take it home and declutter the scenery. Love that kid. Bryson did wind up getting a couple of bites. The river was stunningly gorgeous, despite the road noise from the Dennison Parkway bridge. And we saw a couple of big...somethings...jump out of the water out in the middle.
I warned the kids that if we pulled in any giant muskies, I was cutting the line. The end.
I suck at fishing. But we had a great time. The hour we spent at the river...we will so do again. Next time I will suck at fishing just as badly...but I still won't care.
Fun lessons learned, text messaged to my friend mid-process:
Lesson 1: One adult per two children. Not three.
Lesson 2: Buy the better rods. Even for the kids. Especially for the kids.
Lesson 3: The kids don't care if they catch anything. It's all about casting the farthest.
Lesson 4: Extra. Jigs.
Lesson 5: Laugh. Who cares about fish?
Looking forward to future lessons. :)
I walked into the store and quickly got my sticky gloves and my needle nosed pliers in the tool aisle--those were things I knew I wanted (Walmart is good for this anyway...one-stop shopping). I have no problem touching fish...but some of them are prickly, and...well, I don't know which ones, to be honest. And since I would be the only grown-up standing there at the river, I had to be able to yank whatever came out of the water off those poles. I headed over to get my license, approached the rods and reels and bait, and just kind of panned from one end of the aisle to the other. I had no idea what I was looking for in that aisle, despite my crash course on what kind of fish I would find in the river and what kinds of things they would like. Like...what the heck is spinnerbait (it has too many prongy thingies on it and I knew I was going to have ripped-apart fingers with those)?? Do you know how many different boxes full of contraptions that all look the same line this aisle? And they are so not the same. I know now. Because the woman who stood there and told me she spends more on fishing tackle than she does on shoes and clothes told me so. I think she took pity on me when she noticed the blank stare on my face. Honestly, I don't know if she actually knew what she was talking about. But she sure seemed to. She started talking about "chartreuse" and "pumpkin seed" bait thingies and how power bait had a scent and all this stuff...woo! Point me to it, lady! I will put it in my cart. Frankly, I didn't even care. I wanted to fish. I wanted to take my kids fishing. Who cares about the right lures?? We live half a mile from the river. Let's. Go. Fishin.
We got the license (which has the wrong address...I need to go fix that), grabbed a few groceries (yay, Walmart!), and quickly made our way home. I strung up the poles, ripped the stupid reels off the inexpensive poles I got two of the kids to make them actually function (found out later I screwed something up in the process, I think), tied jigs on the lines, opened up all the tiny little packages and stuck them in the tackle box (with the pliers. and scissors.), and we drove to the river (the plan was to walk, but, umm, by the time all of that happened, we had an hour and a half until the girls had to be at youth group. and supper to prepare/eat. we drove). The walk to the river from the car...proved interesting. Hehe. The kids do not like walking through deep grass next to the river...apparently there are critters there. And, actually, I confirmed that, long about the time I wasn't watching ahead of me, but rather talking behind me, and stepped directly into a woodchuck hole. Hehe. Thankfully, I just smashed my finger and didn't break a leg. Which I wouldn't put past me. On a fishing trip to the river. Sheesh. We found our spot on the rocks, and the kids cast their lines.
I learned a lesson from my dad somewhere along the way...when taking kids fishing, if you bring your own pole and think you're actually going to fish, you're just going to wind up frustrated. You spend more time untangling lines, baiting hooks, pulling hooks out of fishies' mouths, running back and forth between children, rescuing kids from falling in the river...it's just a better idea not to even bring your pole. I did not take my pole.
It's a good thing.
Within 5 minutes, Bryson has "caught" a submerged tree. Cut line #1. Re-hook and "bait" and sinker line #1 (by the way, I have no idea what to do with sinkers. Or hooks. Or bait. I don't care.). 2 minutes after Bryson hooks the tree, Reasa has hooked something waaaaay out in the river (a rock?)...and can't reel anything in (see above paragraph regarding the disassembly of her reel). Cut line #2. Spend 15 minutes attempting to untangle the mess of line inside Reasa's reel. Finally give up and resort to scissors, put the thing back together, shaking my head, promising to hand it to my dad the next time I see him so he can show me why I can't make the thing function. Child #1 (Reasa) splooshes her muck boot allllll the way into the water, resulting in giggling and screeching (after she gets over her "I'm just a disaster! I break everything I touch!" tirade. Oh my GOSH she's so 12.). Laine gives Reasa her rod because, frankly, she'd rather scope out the rocks and see how many times she can slip on them and how many brush burns she can aquire (sigh. why did she have to inherit THAT quality??). At one point, I kid you not, these words came out of her mouth: "Oh my gosh! Mom! I just found spam!!" She also found several walmart bags and picked her way through the rocks, collecting junk so we could take it home and declutter the scenery. Love that kid. Bryson did wind up getting a couple of bites. The river was stunningly gorgeous, despite the road noise from the Dennison Parkway bridge. And we saw a couple of big...somethings...jump out of the water out in the middle.
I warned the kids that if we pulled in any giant muskies, I was cutting the line. The end.
I suck at fishing. But we had a great time. The hour we spent at the river...we will so do again. Next time I will suck at fishing just as badly...but I still won't care.
Fun lessons learned, text messaged to my friend mid-process:
Lesson 1: One adult per two children. Not three.
Lesson 2: Buy the better rods. Even for the kids. Especially for the kids.
Lesson 3: The kids don't care if they catch anything. It's all about casting the farthest.
Lesson 4: Extra. Jigs.
Lesson 5: Laugh. Who cares about fish?
Looking forward to future lessons. :)
Friday, June 24, 2011
Learning
Have you seen the show on...I don't even know what channel it's on...Nick?...Destroy Build Destroy? I mean, I don't really blame you if you haven't. It's irritatingly tween-ish. My son totally loves it. Because seriously. They BLOW STUFF UP. And swim in gunk. And walk on quicksand. And cool boy stuff like that.
The thing is...I really, earnestly feel like the title of that show...is my life. More specifically, is my kitchen. If I actually documented the amount of time I spend in my kitchen on a given day lately, I fear I would want to give up this business. For the simple fact that no one should spend that much time on ugly linoleum flooring looking at yellow hieroglyphics on her countertop. Barefoot. Covered in cornstarch. Slipping barefoot in cornstarch I have poofed all over the floor (that's what it does when it comes out of the box. It POOFs. Breathing confectioners sugar dust. While a fine layer settles all. over. my. house.
I'm learning what it means to be a working mom. Only...I'm working in my kitchen. Constantly. While my children entertain themselves with the Wii, their laptops, the television, and the 19-month-old who wanders through babbling endlessly (I so have to get a grip on this). This has become a 60-hour-a-week job. If it doesn't get done during the day...I do it at night...sometimes all night. And it often doesn't get done during the day. The kitchen is destroyed for breakfast, rebuilt for cake construction, destroyed to make 9 batches of buttercream, rebuilt to serve lunch, destroyed to knead 4 batches of fondant and cover a cake or two with it, rebuilt to come up with a dinner plan, destroyed to sculpt gumpaste figurines and form gumpaste hydrangeas and gerbera daisies, and rebuilt so I can go to bed without thinking about the disaster I left behind. Mostly. The number of times my girl has said to me, "Momma, when will we see the counters again?" is laughable, actually. She's joking...and she knows she's going to make me giggle when she says it...but there is truth behind it.
I'm learning that Relient K spurs me to action. That Brandon Heath would be a soulmate if we were to meet in real life. That my kids can function just fine on their own, but that I hate that they can. That my house is very easy to keep...semi-tidy...but the finer details of cleaning and organizing are definitely lacking and that I have to be ok with that right now. That an allowance for helping me around the house might be the only way I live through the next...10 years. That three cakes to serve more than 100 in one weekend...is too much. Even if they're all straight buttercream. I'm learning how to say no...sort of. I'm a lot better at "I want to help you...but I think I might lose my mind if I do." I'm working on it. I'm learning that I need people. That the Paleo diet keeps my skin clear. That Asylum is fun for 30 days, but that I can't wait to get back to something else. That snuggles from a 19-month old who isn't even mine warm my heart in a crazy way, that teary, angry coversations with a 12-year-old that end in snuggles FILL my heart, and that a day-long, sporadic text conversation with a dear, old friend makes me smile. Big.
I'm learning.
The thing is...I really, earnestly feel like the title of that show...is my life. More specifically, is my kitchen. If I actually documented the amount of time I spend in my kitchen on a given day lately, I fear I would want to give up this business. For the simple fact that no one should spend that much time on ugly linoleum flooring looking at yellow hieroglyphics on her countertop. Barefoot. Covered in cornstarch. Slipping barefoot in cornstarch I have poofed all over the floor (that's what it does when it comes out of the box. It POOFs. Breathing confectioners sugar dust. While a fine layer settles all. over. my. house.
I'm learning what it means to be a working mom. Only...I'm working in my kitchen. Constantly. While my children entertain themselves with the Wii, their laptops, the television, and the 19-month-old who wanders through babbling endlessly (I so have to get a grip on this). This has become a 60-hour-a-week job. If it doesn't get done during the day...I do it at night...sometimes all night. And it often doesn't get done during the day. The kitchen is destroyed for breakfast, rebuilt for cake construction, destroyed to make 9 batches of buttercream, rebuilt to serve lunch, destroyed to knead 4 batches of fondant and cover a cake or two with it, rebuilt to come up with a dinner plan, destroyed to sculpt gumpaste figurines and form gumpaste hydrangeas and gerbera daisies, and rebuilt so I can go to bed without thinking about the disaster I left behind. Mostly. The number of times my girl has said to me, "Momma, when will we see the counters again?" is laughable, actually. She's joking...and she knows she's going to make me giggle when she says it...but there is truth behind it.
I'm learning that Relient K spurs me to action. That Brandon Heath would be a soulmate if we were to meet in real life. That my kids can function just fine on their own, but that I hate that they can. That my house is very easy to keep...semi-tidy...but the finer details of cleaning and organizing are definitely lacking and that I have to be ok with that right now. That an allowance for helping me around the house might be the only way I live through the next...10 years. That three cakes to serve more than 100 in one weekend...is too much. Even if they're all straight buttercream. I'm learning how to say no...sort of. I'm a lot better at "I want to help you...but I think I might lose my mind if I do." I'm working on it. I'm learning that I need people. That the Paleo diet keeps my skin clear. That Asylum is fun for 30 days, but that I can't wait to get back to something else. That snuggles from a 19-month old who isn't even mine warm my heart in a crazy way, that teary, angry coversations with a 12-year-old that end in snuggles FILL my heart, and that a day-long, sporadic text conversation with a dear, old friend makes me smile. Big.
I'm learning.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Day 11
Day 10: One-On-One Fountain of Youth Yoga, Calories burned: 105, average heartrate 87
Day 11: Gameday, Calories burned: 450, average heartrate 135
Gameday is a great workout, although long at 60 minutes. It hits several different sports: track and field, soccer, football, wrestling, speed skating, swimming, baseball, rock climbing. There's tons of variety, so you're always doing something different, and oh, my gosh...when it's 75* at 7:00 in the morning, you're seriously always sweating. I'm getting stronger, but I'm a little afraid that my endurance is waning a bit. The thing is...that's totally not a big deal. Until next Friday night. When I have to run 3.5 miles. And there has just been no way I've had time for double workouts in over a week, and no running has taken place. Ugh!
Last night, Relief was on the agenda, but I really needed more than 25 minutes, so I popped in some yoga. I commented to a friend that Asylum is making me strong. The slow pushups and the pushups between vinyasas usually kick my butt, but last night...they really didn't feel like that big of a deal. I sweat like crazy, but wasn't wiped out by the end of the workout. It gave me exactly what I needed at the end of the chaos of the day. If only my house had cleaned itself while I did the workout...
This whole week, actually, feels like chaos. In addition to working through some totally normal and expected tween hormonal craziness, I had a cake that took SOOO much longer than I expected to spend on it, and on the hottest day of the summer so far, of course (and add that to the cake that I had 2.5 hours notice on...smack in the middle of Crazy Cake preparation). Working with fondant when it's 95 outside is pretty much an exercise in futility. The gumpaste did not want to dry--even the flowers and butterflies I made the day before weren't firm when I wanted to put them on the cake. And rice krispy treat turrets? Yeah right. Those babies were skewered into the cake to the point that, seriously, they couldn't move. I tried to press a brick pattern into the fondant...it laughed at me. By that point...I did not laugh back. Also...tomorrow night is my 20th High School Reunion. Yes. That's right. TWENTIETH. And I don't have a clue what I'm wearing. Oh, I've shopped. Dresses and tops and shorts and capris and pants...I'm about at the point where I think I'll go in jean shorts and a tank top.
Not really.
But it's tempting.
Have to take the baby and hopefully a helpful child with me when I go (again. for the third time)(i hate the mall) this morning. At some point I also need to color my hair, highlight it, make 3 batches of cupcakes and three different frostings (did I mention it's going to be 88 today?), deal with the disaster the house became during the cake crazies, make sure the kids are packed for the weekend, learn a new song I am supposed to lead for worship this weekend, get the girls to a horse lesson, go to worship rehearsal, and do my nails. Which I keep breaking.
AAK.
I need to get to work.
Also, I have the best kids. Who have recently discovered how fun it is to have a little one around the house. Not sure what took them so long, but glad they did. On my busy days and when I need their help...I am glad AND grateful.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Day 9
OK. Here's the Asylum Check-In:
Day 5: Rest
Day 6: Speed and Agility, Calories burned: forgot the hrm
Day 7: Strength, Calories burned: forgot the hrm...
Day 8: Back to Core, Calories burned: 250. average heartrate: 126
Day 9: Vertical Plyo, Calories burned: not sure...last time was 300...forgot to put my monitor on. I should really do that.
I'm going to post my Response to Vertical Plyo video again because...well...it's just confirmation. Crazy confirmation. Confirmation of crazy. Whatever.
That's right, folks.
I hate this workout. Hate it so much, I wish I had it a couple more times a week so I could conquer it a little more quickly. Next time I have it...is a full week from now. Tomorrow is Relief...which is a blessing...but Thursday is Game Day. During which I might actually fall over. Yikes. I think I may actually do Relief tonight and Yoga in the morning. For the record, my most-sore body parts are my thighs--inner and hamstrings. Youch.
This is hard work. When I finished Vertical Plyo tonight, Bryson came up to me and said, "Whoa, mom. That's GROSS!" because I was literally dripping. It made no sense to shower quickly because I think my core temperature was so high...I would have just dripped again as soon as I got out.
An observation: I'm having a hard time remembering to eat with the craziness of my schedule. It's affecting my energy and my performance during workouts. This...is a lesson I need to learn better.
Day 5: Rest
Day 6: Speed and Agility, Calories burned: forgot the hrm
Day 7: Strength, Calories burned: forgot the hrm...
Day 8: Back to Core, Calories burned: 250. average heartrate: 126
Day 9: Vertical Plyo, Calories burned: not sure...last time was 300...forgot to put my monitor on. I should really do that.
I'm going to post my Response to Vertical Plyo video again because...well...it's just confirmation. Crazy confirmation. Confirmation of crazy. Whatever.
That's right, folks.
I hate this workout. Hate it so much, I wish I had it a couple more times a week so I could conquer it a little more quickly. Next time I have it...is a full week from now. Tomorrow is Relief...which is a blessing...but Thursday is Game Day. During which I might actually fall over. Yikes. I think I may actually do Relief tonight and Yoga in the morning. For the record, my most-sore body parts are my thighs--inner and hamstrings. Youch.
This is hard work. When I finished Vertical Plyo tonight, Bryson came up to me and said, "Whoa, mom. That's GROSS!" because I was literally dripping. It made no sense to shower quickly because I think my core temperature was so high...I would have just dripped again as soon as I got out.
An observation: I'm having a hard time remembering to eat with the craziness of my schedule. It's affecting my energy and my performance during workouts. This...is a lesson I need to learn better.
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